1996, the best year in movie history, pt. 6: A close shave

Pale, bald, chatty Wallace lives with Gromit, his long-suffering pooch. Wallace invents gadgets. Every morning, his alarm clock triggers various mechanisms that lift him out of bed, dress him, and serve him breakfast.

Of course, as in any good Frankensteinian chiller, some of the machines will turn out to have minds of their own.

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In this movie, beasts also are intelligent. Gromit reads the newspaper – and Russian literature. There is also a herd of sheep whose members act together with astounding complexity and precision.

(The joke is that all these intelligent machines and beasts are mute, and must endure Wallace’s prattle.)

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This 31-minute work of clay animation is a sequel to A Grand Day Out and The Wrong Trousers (which should be viewed before A Close Shave). It precedes The Curse of the Were-Rabbit – which is of “feature” length – as well as another short movie, A Matter of Loaf and Death.

The four short movies can be regarded as a steadily darkening, unified whole. Reflect upon the titles. In the first movie, everything is innocent and, well, grand. In the second movie, something goes wrong: sin is introduced into the world, or at least into Wallace’s and Gromit’s household. In A Close Shave, things are nearly disastrous (but not quite). And in the last movie, things are downright deadly.

Wallace, the bumbling tinkerer, and Gromit, his loyal assistant, are basically unchanging. It’s the world around them that gets more sinister.

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At the heart of A Close Shave is Wallace’s courtship of Wendolene, a wool merchant. It’s a pathetic romance, the coming together of two sad sacks.

We smirk. We also worry: we’ve seen Wendolene commit a crime. We dread her designs upon her innocent lover. (Wallace may be tactless, but he is without malice.)

Wendolene’s dog, Preston, is much more ruthless than Gromit. What is his role in the crime?

Another character is Shaun, a sheep who unexpectedly comes to live in Wallace’s and Gromit’s house. It’s Shaun who’ll save the day.

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The setting is pure British kitchen sink. (“Kitchen-sink fantasy,” we might call it.) Everywhere is urban grime. Houses are tackily decorated. Wallace and Gromit support themselves by washing windows. Wendolene can be inferred to have suffered a domestic trauma.

Thankfully, there’s wit in every detail. Gromit, unjustly condemned to prison, reads Crime and Punishment. There are deft jokes of physical movement, as when a machine-gun is used to shoot porridge. Newspaper headlines drily comment on events; they often feature farm animals as protagonists, as if to remind soot-choked England of the countryside.

There’s also a keen appreciation of previous moviemaking. The lighting is lurid, as in a Hitchcockian effort from the 1960s. The camera peeks around corners and out from hiding-places.

And the physical acting – well, there is none; it’s all done with clay. And yet Gromit is as compelling as any human actor.

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P.S. In the United States, A Close Shave was first shown on December 29, 1995 – and so it missed having a 1996 release date. But just barely.

I’ll stipulate that, as far as this blogging series is concerned, if a part of a movie’s initial theatrical run in some country occurred in 1996, the movie is reviewable. This is a sufficient condition; I reserve the right not to make it a necessary one.

The Carter project

Our Indiana county is the site of this year’s Jimmy & Rosalynn Carter Work Project, an intensive building campaign by Habitat for Humanity. Later this week, Karin will help to build one of the houses.

I wanted to peek at the Carters, and so, yesterday, Karin & I attended the “project launch,” which was held inside Notre Dame’s basketball gym in front of thousands of people. I thought Jimmy Carter might say a few words about the Bible. Alas, what transpired was an hour of mutual congratulation by the local bigwigs.

I did learn that one of the dignitaries – an architect named LeRoy Troyer, the designer of the main building of the Ark Encounter – had long worked with Habitat for Humanity, and that he’d been inspired by the Amish practice of raising barns.

David Letterman told a few jokes and introduced the Carters. Jimmy Carter said very little. Even so, he was the night’s best speaker. As the proverb has it: when you reach the end zone, you should “act like you’ve been there before”; that was what Jimmy Carter did.

Ziva’s remarks (as told to Karin)

For the first time, Jasper and Ziva have acne on their chins – a common ailment for cats. We may have to buy expensive medicine for them. Jasper, especially, seems irritated. He’s been picking fights with Ziva.

In retaliation, Ziva sings “Old MacDonald” like this:

Old MacDonald had a farm;
E-I-E-I-O!
And on that farm, he had two cats;
E-I-E-I-O!
One was beautiful and nice
(E-I-E-I-O);
The other, mean and fat and rude!
E-I-E-I-O!

(As told to Karin.)

There is a great deal of this sort of lyricism in our household.

Sometimes, the ditty is sung “Old McTender,” not “Old MacDonald.” The motive for this is not altogether clear.

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Again, Ziva speaks:

“Mares eat oats, and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy.”

Karin: “Oh, yes, Ziva?”

Ziva: “I learned these words from my good friend, Leland Palmer.”

(If Ziva actually were to say these things, I would worry that she was unhinged.)

Brianna is taught the consequences

Ziva’s adoption-day was yesterday; she and Jasper were allowed to share a can of tuna. She’s lived two years with us. We love her very much.

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Today, I worked on revising my dissertation chapter on the Rawlsian quest for political stability. This chapter has been scrambling my little brain.

Rawls offers many different characterizations of his key ideas. It’s bad enough, having to explain which characterization of an idea is the most important one for him; explaining others’ confused interpretations is downright dizzying.

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As I was engaged with these tasks, Karin’s little sister, Brianna, knocked on our door. She’d missed her school bus – again – on purpose, to talk to her friends (Brianna is a twelfth-grader). Also, she hadn’t wanted to walk home. Instead, she’d walked in the opposite direction, to our apartment.

Karin was away for the evening and couldn’t drive Brianna home.

Karin’s and Brianna’s mother refused to come over and drive Brianna home. “Why are you punishing Brianna in this way?” Karin asked her. “I’m not punishing Brianna,” her mother said. “I’m merely helping her to learn the consequences of her actions.”

I was inclined to agree with my mother-in-law. But, in this case, the consequences of Brianna’s actions fell squarely upon me. (Farewell to a peaceful evening during which to write.)

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“Gather up your school things,” I told Brianna. “We’re walking to your house.”

Of course, Brianna is capable of walking by herself (though, notoriously, she doesn’t).

But what could she say? It’s much easier and nicer to be kicked out of someone’s home when that person goes with you on your journey.

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On the way to Brianna’s house, we saw the friendly Mormons driving down the street. They waved at us and drove away.

Goodbye, Mormons, I thought. I wish you’d offered us a lift.

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The walk to Brianna’s house took fifty minutes. When we arrived, Brianna’s mother was in her car, pulling out of the driveway. She stared at me. “Thank you for walking my daughter home,” she said. Then she drove away, to go shopping.

I hadn’t quite expected my mother-in-law to offer me a lift home; I suppose that if she had, it would’ve interfered with Brianna’s learning of the consequences. Still, I was a little irked that she didn’t.

All together, my round trip was five miles. A few years ago, that would’ve been a cinch to walk; but now, I’m old and fat. My limbs are sore, and I am tired. These, also, are among the consequences.

Some visitors from Esmeraldas

Yesterday, Karin & I went to the movie theater. The movie itself cost $6 per ticket – the only good deal in the house. Two popcorns and two drinks would’ve cost about $20. Two bottles of water would’ve cost about $10.

And then, to add insult to injury, the drinking fountains in our section didn’t work. (We did find drinking water at the other end of the building.)

We settled into our seats. The previews were uninspired.

Clearly, the movie industry is in bad decline …

… except for the Mission: Impossible series, which just keeps on getting better and better, and whose latest installment we’d come to view. (It’s one of the comforts of my old age.)

Mission: Impossible – Fallout is the “Thundergun Express” of movies. Tom Cruise hangs from a cliff, and from a tall building. He jumps out of a plane – in a lightning storm. He pilots a helicopter – in a dogfight with another helicopter, over the Himalayas. And, in Paris and London, he runs, and runs, and runs.

It’s best viewed on the big screen, what Tom Cruise manages to do.

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Afterward, we stopped by my Aunt Lorena’s & Uncle John’s house to borrow a book; and, lo and behold, who should be visiting but my Aunt Lorena’s own aunt and uncle, Amparo and René Bermúdez. It’s not often that I see people I knew in Esmeraldas, as a child.

We conversed in Spanish.

“How is Ruth?” they asked, referring to Mary, my sister. “Does she still have asthma?”

“No,” my Aunt Lorena said, “she has diabetes.”

“She has both,” I assured them. We all shook our heads.

“She exercises regularly and watches her diet,” I told them. “She’s in better condition than her brothers are.”

“Ah,” they said. “And little David, who wanted to play for Real Madrid?”

“Married to an hondureña.”

“And young Stephen?”

“To a nicaragüense.”

“And your wife, does she speak Spanish?”

“No.” (Karin later told me that she understood 25% of the conversation – and, yes, the, and other words like those.)

“With whom do you practice?”

“With no one.”

“You speak Spanish perfectly.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “For an esmeraldeño.”

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Before we took our leave, Karin & I went upstairs to greet my cousins, Annie and Vickie. Annie was in her bedroom with Johnny, her fiancé. Vickie was in her own bedroom.

After we talked to them, we came back down the stairs.

“Was Vickie in her own room?” asked my Uncle John.

“Yes,” I said.

“Annie and Johnny aren’t supposed to be in a bedroom alone together,” said my uncle.

“Well,” I told him, “you’d better go up there and drag them out.”

And then Karin & I left.

Cornish ambiance; two new Mormon missionaries; their predecessors, the raccoon killers; I join a reading group

Well, I finished reading Rebecca. The last hundred or so pages were very thrilling. Then I read the back matter: (i) an essay by Daphne du Maurier about how she wrote the novel; (ii) an essay about Menabilly, the real-life “Manderlay” (where du Maurier later resided); and (iii) a disused draft of the epilogue (it sucked so badly, I tore it out of the book).

Cornwall must be one of the best English counties in which to set a Gothic novel. It has the requisite desolation. Fittingly, Aphex Twin is the best-selling musician to hail from that county.

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Two new Mormon missionaries have moved in downstairs. Today, they made the rounds in our building, knocking on doors and introducing themselves. When they came to our apartment, I told them that I knew a great deal about missionary life; that Karin & I’d honeymooned in Utah; and that their predecessors, Elders Henderson and Parker, had neglected us, except to skin a raccoon under our window. (Yes, we now know that they did it: they fashioned the tail into an ornament for their car.)

I agreed to discuss the Book of Mormon with the new young “elders.” This, at last, will spur me to read it.

August’s poem

This one, from Trial by Jury, is by the librettist W.S. Gilbert.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Song – Judge
When I, good friends, was called to the bar,
I’d an appetite fresh and hearty,
But I was, as many young barristers are,
An impecunious party.
I’d a swallow-tail coat of a beautiful blue –
And a brief which I bought of a booby –
A couple of shirts, and a collar or two,
And a ring that looked like a ruby!

Chorus
A couple of shirts, and collar or two,
And a ring that looked like a ruby!

In Westminister Hall I danced a dance,
Like a semi-despondent fury;
For I thought I never should hit on a chance
Of addressing a British Jury –
But I soon got tired of third-class journeys,
And dinners of bread and water;
So I fell in love with a rich attorney’s
Elderly, ugly daughter.

So he fell in love [etc.].

The rich attorney, he jumped with joy,
And replied to my fond professions:
“You’ll reap the reward of your pluck, my boy
At the Bailey and Middlesex Sessions.
You’ll soon get used to her looks,” said he,
“And a very nice girl you will find her!
She may very well pass for forty-three
In the dusk, with a light behind her!”

She has often been taken for forty-three
In the dusk, with a light behind her.

The rich attorney was good as his word;
The briefs came trooping gaily,
And every day my voice was heard
At the Sessions or Ancient Bailey.
All thieves who could my fees afford
Relied on my orations,
And many a burglar I’ve restored
To his friends and his relations.

And many a burglar [etc.].

At length I became as rich as the Gurneys –
An incubus then I thought her,
So I threw over that rich attorney’s
Elderly, ugly daughter.
The rich attorney my character high
Tried vainly to disparage –
And now, if you please, I’m ready to try
This Breach of Promise of Marriage!

And now, if you please, he’s ready to try
This Breach of Promise of Marriage.

Judge
For now I am a Judge!

All
And a good Judge too!

Yes, now I am a Judge!

And a good Judge too!

Though all my law is fudge,
Yet I’ll never, never budge,
But I’ll live and die a Judge!

And a good Judge too!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Thus, a century later, the Happy Mondays released their track “Judge Fudge.” Its lyrics also would merit inclusion in this series of poems.

Under the bridge

At work, Karin earned two tickets to a local minor league baseball game, along with two free ballpark suppers. To avoid the $7 parking fee, we rode the bus; upon arriving, however, we found we’d left the baseball tickets at home.

We would’ve eaten elsewhere downtown, but the heavens opened up a torrent. We ended up staying at the bus station for about an hour. Then we rode to a McDonald’s near our apartment.

After our supper, as we were walking home, it started raining again – very hard – and so we took shelter under a bridge. I was busy explaining why extant theories of bodily resurrection leave a great deal to be desired. Karin snapped this photo of me:

It’s a bit dark, which probably is a good thing, considering my disheveled state.

Some recent photos of the kitties

Jasper under his clothes basket:

Ziva in her flex-tunnel:

Jasper inside his favorite dish:

Ziva on her suitcase:

Freeriding

There’s good news, for one semester at least: the faculty, staff, and students of my university will be allowed to ride the city bus for free. I plan to ride as often as possible so that this policy will be extended beyond the fall.

I paid my last bus fare today and rode home from downtown, where I’d attended the Friends of the Library Public Book Sale. I’d bought nine books in five volumes for four dollars. Six of these books are inside two omnibuses by Ngaio Marsh. “She Writes Better than Christie!” is the blurb on the front cover of one of the omnibuses. (No, she doesn’t.) The Friends of the Library Public Book Sale is about the only place where I ever find Ngaio Marsh’s books; curiously, no books by Dame Agatha were available today.

I’d been dutifully reading two chapters, daily, of Dame Daphne, but yesterday I lapsed. I did write four dissertation pages, however. (I still should be able to finish reading Rebecca in two weeks.)

I also am reading one chapter, daily, of The Late George Apley. I should get through that book by the end of August.

P.S. I saw at least two copies of Children of Monsters: An Inquiry into the Sons and Daughters of Dictators, by Jay Nordlinger, in the “Politics” section of the book sale. You can get a copy cheap if you go in today before 6:00pm. (Here is what I wrote of the book a couple of years ago.)